Donna at 11:59
by UndeniablyMe
Summary: Donna is consistent, Eleven is reaching the end of his run, and Shaun Temple is out of his depth. Sometimes, you just need your best mate. Even if they don't remember who you are. [The clock is striking Twelve.]


**Donna at 11:59**

_It's not that those memories are fake or wrong… _

_It's just that sometimes it's almost like they're not there._

* * *

Donna doesn't believe in aliens.

It's one of the first things that Shaun Temple learns about her, over coffee at the corner cafe. They're discussing the latest conspiracy theory that's made the front of the newspaper about aliens and the supernatural, and Donna dismisses it all with a scoff.

"_Aliens? Ridiculous! Oh, did you see it on BBC? Spaceships, aliens, ray guns, men with pointy hats? Rubbish."_

She does this thing with her hands and her face when she rants, all jittery energy and posh vowels. Shaun thinks she could be a comedian if she wanted to be, but that idea makes her laugh so hard she chokes.

So, yeah, Donna Noble doesn't believe in aliens or extraterrestrials. And, to be precise, that's the second thing that he learns about the fiery redhead. The first thing he learns is that she is very, _very_ vocal.

To be fair, he didn't mean to cut her off. He just couldn't afford to be late, not for a third time that week. But trust Donna to not let it go. All it took was one sentence—

"_Oi! Can't you see I'm walking here?"_

-and he missed the lift.

He should have been annoyed or exasperated, but he wasn't. He still isn't. He might be a glutton for punishment, but he doesn't mind the yelling, the mother of all telling-offs he gets, because Donna is larger than life. And he's okay with that, encouraged by that. She's a voice of compassion and reason, and he likes that too.

Her voice is big and robust, but those words are unattractive and unfeminine when applied to the woman in front of him. And she is, attractive that is, and feminine. She slams her hands on her hips in a furious huff and Shaun thinks he's never seen someone who burns so brightly, so furiously.

Shaun can't help but stare, causing both of them to miss the lift; Donna can't help but be offended.

And somewhere in the middle of the morning rush—_"Just who do ya think you are, huh?"—_and ending up twenty minutes late—_"Because I'm not done with you, Mister!"—_Shaun asks her to coffee. It takes her so much by surprise, she accepts.

Later, he'll learn she doesn't buy into conspiracies, she doesn't believe in aliens, and she's a temp from Chiswick.

(And it's not exactly love, but they'll have time for that.)

...

Shaun is sure that, at one point, Donna Noble must have been a very important woman to someone. She has a certain gait about her, one that makes him think she could swagger into any situation and come out on top. People like that matter. There's something about Donna that just matters.

Donna disagrees. She doesn't think she's very important. She doesn't believe that she's special.

"_I'm just a temp, Shaun—a temp from Chiswick! Will ya let it go?"_

But sometimes, Shaun sees it in her eyes, eyes that can appear a million light years away. It's the same look his old gran used to get when she thought of her late husband, Granddad, the one that spoke of countless adventures that could never be retold in all their glory.

Donna Noble is the most important woman in his world.

It happens slowly at first, her being that mate that he can always count on to have a coffee and a sympathetic ear. She's there when his old gran passes away, unexpectedly, and doesn't mind when he rattles away for hours about how his gran's house used to smell on Saturday mornings he spent with her because his mum had to work. Donna picks up the bill for dinner just as often as he does and she doesn't make a fuss. She remembers his birthday and that he likes the extra spicy mango chutney from the Indian shop around the corner.

It's simple, really. His life soon comes and envelopes hers, and Shaun wonders how he ever got along without her.

And because she is special to him, he has a hard time believing that Donna Noble isn't important to everyone—Donna Noble, the most important woman in all of creation.

Has a bit of a ring to it.

...

Whenever she's asked to choose which way they should go, Donna always chooses left.

"_I dunno, I just got a feelin' about it, ya know?"_

And even if he doesn't know, Shaun doesn't question it. Donna's hunches usually end up being right, lottery tickets and lucky breaks aside.

...

They have a talk about their first loves over tea and her mum's scones. Her mum is out and her granddad has gone up the hill to stargaze and Donna is mindlessly poking around the kitchen for some sugar that neither of them takes with their tea.

"Her name was Lorraine," Shaun tells her. "I was twenty-six, broke, and lost in Paris."

Donna laughs and makes fun of him for being easily taken in by leggy French blondes. Shaun shrugs but can't help the grin that's burgeoning in the corner of his lips, because Donna knows he prefers redheads. Always has.

"What about you?" he asks, and Donna looks confused. "Your first love. How old were you?"

"Never ask a woman age-related questions," Donna quips back. But then her eyes slip sideways, and suddenly she isn't her mum's kitchen in Chiswick, but years and galaxies away. "One time, I built a lifetime with a man in less than fifteen minutes. He was gorgeous and couldn't say a thing—had a stutter." Here she gave a short, humorless laugh. "What does that say about me?"

She doesn't seem to be looking for an answer and Shaun wisely doesn't say anything.

She never does remember his name or how that man and her met.

"On holiday, probably," she finally concedes. "Maybe he shouldn't count seeing as I can't even remember the bloke's name, yeah?"

But there's a twinge of sadness on the peripheries of the conversation and Shaun understands Donna enough to never bring it up again.

...

Donna gets headaches sometimes. Little ones, when she's focusing too hard on something, bigger ones when she's stressed out.

One day, when they're out shopping, she has one of her blinding headaches, the kind that affects her eyesight and makes her whole world wonky. She's barely able to breathe out the word, "Doctor!" before she collapses on the pavement.

Shaun has never been so scared in his life as he is in that moment.

She comes to in a hospital room that smells of antiseptic and is miffed to find herself missing out on all of the shopping sales. She demands to know if they at least made it to Henrik's because shoes were twenty-fiver percent off and doesn't he know how badly she needs new trousers?

(If he breaks down in grateful tears outside her hospital room while she hassles a nurse about the quality of hospital pudding, well, that's between him and the orderly. And he isn't judging.)

The doctors have no explanation. It's not an aneurysm or tumor or fluid pressure or life threatening or anything that can be explained with x-rays or cat scans. It could be genetic, they theorize, or it could be diet.

Donna isn't concerned.

"_If the doctors don't think it's worth worrying about, Shaun, I don't think I need to waste my time on it. Pass the vinegar? Ta."_

It becomes one of those things that he just has to accept. Donna Noble (now Temple) has headaches.

But it takes a long time for the memory of her anguish, of that word—_"Doctor!"_—to fade from his dreams.

...

Shaun wonders about Donna's memories. There seems to be a whole year of her life that is oddly spotty and sometimes just plain missing.

"Too much partying," she jokes. "A few too many mango mojitos and conversations with Nerys will do that to ya. Stop being such a worrywart, would you?"

But it's not so much the fact that Donna isn't worried about her memory lapse, but the shared looks of terror and commiseration from her granddad and mother whenever mention of it comes up in conversation.

But no amount of pressing ever gets them to breathe a word. Shaun assumes this means that he's better off not knowing, so he stops worrying.

(But not really.)

...

Sometimes, there seems to be something wrong with Donna's memories. It's not like they're fake or wrong, it just seems that sometimes they're not there. She doesn't see certain things, doesn't acknowledge their existence, or just can't, like someone's put on blinders and she's confused at why she can't see the whole picture.

It's those moments of confusion, the ones where she looks baffled because she's scared or scared because she's baffled, that Shaun takes her hand. There's something missing in Donna, some integral part to this wonderful woman, shouting at the world because no one is listening.

No one, not even Donna, is listening anymore.

...

They run into a ridiculous man in tweed and braces with a bowtie to boot. He looks like someone's bemused university professor who has been set loose in the real world, all gangly, flailing, and constantly surprised at the length of his own limbs.

"Donna Noble!" the man says with a start, as if he can't help himself, as if he's drowning, and Shaun is immediately put on guard.

Wonderful, oblivious Donna hadn't noticed the gangly man at all. She probably would have walked right past him if he hadn't called out to her.

"Hello Tweedy," she says, looking him up and down. Shaun nearly chokes on his spit. And then, because she can't help it, she adds, "Sorry mate, but you look like someone's granddad. Not mine, mind, even he has enough good sense to not wear tweed."

The man's green eyes crinkle at the corners and a weak smile curls his lips. "I'm older than I look."

Donna scoffs and folds her arms. "Yeah, sure. Can I help you?"

The man smiles, sadly, and suddenly he looks old, much too old for the young face that he wears. It's in his eyes mostly, eyes that seem to teeter on the edge of darkness. This man is dangerous and Shaun fights the sudden urge to snatch Donna up and run with her.

"'M afraid not, Donna, no—not this time," he says with a sigh. His hands move fretfully, as if he wants to shove them into his pockets and then thinks better of it. "But sometimes you need your best mate, yeah? Someone you thought you lost a long, long time ago. Makes you think of happier times... The universe can recognize that, can give you that, even if it takes everything else. Even if they don't remember. Even if they don't know."

The cryptic comment seems to unsettle Donna, prodding at scars she didn't know she had. She responds in a predictable Donna fashion.

"Listen here, Chin Boy—"

"Oh ho! _Chin Boy,_" the man interrupts delightedly, rocking back on his heels. "I knew it would come to either that or the eyebrows. I haven't got any, you see. Eyebrows, that is. Have got quite a bit of chin, don't I? Yes, lots of chin. Chin Boy. Hello _Tweedy. _The universe has such a sense of humor, don't you think?"

Donna takes it in stride, this man who talks about the universe like it is some errant alley cat or gossiping neighbor that has taken up residence next door.

"Is that who singed your eyebrows off then—the universe? Mate, you need help, although," at this Donna trails off and then adds, "Your eyebrows _are_ a bit tragic."

Shaun feels like he has whiplash as she unfolds her arms and asks, "I don't suppose you could try penciling them in?"

The man seems mildly offended. "Wha—like a woman?"

Donna rolls her eyes. "It was just a suggestion, Tweedy Boy."

The man's eyes lighten, just for a moment, and his smile is reflected on Donna's face. A whole eternity exists in that shared look, branching out into forever.

Something is happening, something that Shaun doesn't understand, but before he can get a lock on it time is moving again. Big Ben dings in the background somewhere, signaling the twelfth hour, and the sad smile evaporates off the man's lips.

"Time is making fools of us," he says musingly, his eyes drifting just for a moment over the busy London street and then back to Donna. "And there's no such thing as coincidences. Oh, the universe and her jokes.

"But I... I just wanted to say… Thank you, Donna. And I _am_ sorry. So sorry."

"Sorry?" Donna asks. "Sorry for wha—"

But the man has already pushed past her and vanished into the crowd.

Donna stands on the spot, as if unable to comprehend what has just happened, before snapping back into motion, launching herself into the crowd after him. "Oi, come back! I'm not done talking to you! _OI_!"

"Donna!" Shaun, dismayed, trails after her.

She never finds him, the gangly man in tweed. He vanishes into the crowd like an errant thought and a blistering headache forces the pair to cancel their lunch plans so Donna can take the rest of the day off.

By the time she sleeps off the headache, the mysterious stranger in the bowtie has evaporated from her thoughts entirely. But Shaun never can forget the way he looked at her and he wonders, in private, if there is something he is missing.

But then Monday mornings roll around, and birthdays, and holidays, and Donna is happy (he thinks), and Shaun is happy (he believes), and that is life, moving forward in ticks and tocks.

And if that errant thought ever returns, it isn't in bowties or tweed.

* * *

_tick tock goes the clock_

_mere mortals' life go on_

_tick tock goes the clock_

_the eleventh hour's almost gone_

* * *

**A/n: **It's been months since I've written anything, but my roommate recently got me hooked on Doctor Who. Thus, you see this before you. Donna has always been one of my favorite companions, and I adore Catherine Tate. I like the idea of Donna being consistent, even if she doesn't have all of her memories, and lending the Doctor a small bit of peace to carry with him. She's his original redhead. I think Amy reminded him a lot of her.

This idea came from a prompt floating around tumblr about Donna's (lack of) memories and soon transformed into me wondering, "Does the Doctor ever have those days where he just wants to talk to his best mate?" and I decided that yeah, yeah he does. Plus, the idea of Eleven and Donna sparring made my muse very happy.

As you can see, my anxieties for the new doctor have been spilling over into, well, everything. Between that and the new Sherlock teaser, it's a miracle I'm still functioning in society.

Your thoughts are appreciated. It's been quite a long time since I kicked around this old site.


End file.
